


Perfect Normalcy

by Olddaydreams



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Confessions, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Error 404 Egbert Not Found, M/M, Nightmares, No Character Death, Possible Disturbing Imagery, Sad John, Sadstuck, Self-Hatred, Suicidal Thoughts, chapters one and two have been updated, he's been bottling up stuff for a while, i wrote this because the world needs more sad john, karkat is angry but its just because he cares, mostly cannon compliant?, pale johnkat - Freeform, poor johnnyboy, undergoing some minor rewriting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-06
Updated: 2017-02-16
Packaged: 2018-08-29 08:20:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8482363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Olddaydreams/pseuds/Olddaydreams
Summary: This is fine. What you’re doing is for the best, even if it hurts.Maybe if you tell that to yourself enough times, you’ll start to believe it.





	1. Be John Egbert

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's John's birthday.

You are John Egbert, and boy are you tired.

It’s nothing you aren’t used to, you haven’t felt rested in months. Between doing nothing during the day and night terrors tormenting you at night, a good night’s sleep is hard to come by. 

As the months wore on after finishing the game, your friends seemed to drift away from you. It’s fine, really it is. You miss their visits but they have more important things they need to be doing. However, without them, or anyone, there to get you out of this damn house, you’ve found yourself in a rut. Drag yourself out of bed, go downstairs, stumble into the living room, try not to pass out on the couch, get in the shower by mid afternoon, and spend the rest of the day holed up in your bedroom. As boring as that is, you can’t deny that the rut isn’t all bad. It keeps you living in a dreamy haze that keeps you a safe distance from… What it's keeping you from isn't important. You shouldn’t be thinking about it anyways.

Today, you're a bit ahead of schedule. Somehow you’ve managed to get dressed, showered, and curled up on your bed by noon. You could almost call it an accomplishment, but your satisfaction is soured by the fact that it took over two hours to get in and out of the bathroom. It’s stupid that something so mundane gets to you like this. Some days you’re tempted to forgo the whole ordeal but, time and time again, the disgusting feeling of dirt and oil coating your skin becomes too much to bear.

 

**== > John: Be your past self.**

 

You shuffle into the bathroom, a rumpled change of clothes tucked under your arm and your eyes locked on the floor. A sense of foreboding hangs over you. You grit your teeth, fighting the urge to pull your eyes away from the floor. The warmth and safety of your routine is gone. You have to pay a price for living like this. You can't avoid it forever. 

Soon enough, you give in, just like you do every day, every _single_ day. Here you are, completely alone, scowling at your reflection. The face staring back at you feels wrong in a way it shouldn’t, like it doesn’t belong to you. It makes your skin crawl.  

Seconds turn into minutes and minutes fade to hours, but time doesn’t mean much to you these days, especially when you’re like this. It’s impossible to look away. The longer you stand there, scrutinizing yourself, the more your reflection shifts and distorts. After a while, it feels like you're looking at a funhouse mirror.

You hate your eyes more than anything. It hasn’t always been like this. In fact, you loved them when you were a kid. They reminded you of blue skies and blue-raspberry Jolly Ranchers —they were unique, and you loved them for it. But your first few years in school taught you an important lesson: standing out isn’t a good thing.

Things were fine at first. Sure, you were the most popular kid on the block but you got along fine. But as you got older, your classmates became less and less friendly. Their behavior baffled you for the longest time. You tried a million different ways to get things go back to normal, but none of it worked. No matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t understand what you’d done wrong. Chances are that you never would’ve if you hadn’t overheard those kids one day.

 

_“What’s wrong with him? I don’t get it.”_

_“That’s ‘cause you’re new here Megan.”_

_“Yeah, just stay away from him, okay? That kid’s a creep.”_

_“But why? John doesn’t seem tha-”_

_“Sh! Ya can’t just go sayin’ his name like that!”_  

_“Why not?”_

_“You don’t wanna know.”_

_“I betcha it’d give her nightmares.”_

_“It would not!”_

_“You sure?”_  

_“Of course I am!”_  

_“Ya say that now…”_

_“Come on Ryan! Just tell me already!”_

_“Fine, but don’ say I didn’t warn ya.”_

_Your knees are so shaky that you have to sit down. Part of you wants to run, but this might be the only chance you ever get to find out what you did._

_“Have ya ever gotten a good look at his eyes?”_

_“I guess not.”_

_“Well, ya see, John’s eyes are blue-”_

_“Wow, you were right, this is really scary... not.”_  

_“Let me finish!”_

_“Okay, okay, jeez.”_

_“John’s eyes aren’t blue like normal. They almost glow if you look right at ‘em.”_

_“So?”_

_“He’s a demon! He’ll stare right into your soul if you let ‘im look long enough.”_

_“Is that true?”_

_“It sure is. He killed his own mom while he was still in pre-school. And from what I heard, his dad jus’ keeps him around cause he’s scared.”_

 

You tear your eyes away from the mirror and take a deep breath. That's enough of that.

You pull off your clothes and stumble into the shower. The dreamy haze of routine welcomes you back with open arms. You slip into autopilot and let your mind wander. 

Dad used to tell you that people have a habit of thinking they have flaws that aren't really there. For a long time, you believed him. However, now you’re convinced that he’d said it out of fatherly obligation. He just wanted to keep you from seeing the things everyone else saw when they looked at you.

You slide out of the shower, a little nauseous from all the steam. But on the bright side, the mirror is fogged up, so you don't have to worry about it distracting you for a while.

You smile a bit as you get dressed, your body isn’t all bad. There's your collarbone and your ribs, which stick out more than they should, but you like it. All the weight and muscle you’ve lost since the game ended should have you worried but it doesn’t. It's not like you’re starving yourself. You just keep forgetting breakfast… and lunch… then feel too tired to bother with dinner. But, you make sure to eat _something_ most days. It's fine. If it was problem, you wouldn't have that little bit of chub lingering on your stomach. 

Most of the steam has dispersed by the time you're dressed. You clear off a spot on the mirror with your sleeve. You need to hurry up it's only a matter of time before the rest of the mirror clears up.

You narrow your eyes at your teeth as you brush them. They don't stick out all the time like they did when you were younger, but that doesn't mean you like them. They still make you look like a brainless idiot. It could be worse. The dentist once told you there was a possibility that your teeth would get worse as you grew up. At least that didn’t happen.

By the time you're done your reflection is staring back at you clear as day.

Your skin’s warm glow is nearly gone. If you keep going like this, you might fade away entirely. The paleness of your skin is a stark contrast to your messy black hair. You look like something out of a Tim Burton film.

It only gets worse from there. Your neck is too wide for your head, barely slimmer than your jaw, and your shoulders are too broad for your frame. There's one thing after another. Your force yourself to tear your eyes away, you breath heavy and sweat trickling down your forehead.

On an impulse, you take a picture of yourself in the mirror then post it on Snapchat. The second after you do, you're filled with a strange sense of regret and confusion. The feeling lingers for a moment before it fading. _At least I’m smiling,_ you think as you glance down at the photo.

 

**== > John: Stop being your past self.**

 

The midday sun filters through your blinds, casting a dim glow across the walls. You doubt fooling around on your phone in the lowlight is doing wonders for your eyes, but you don’t really care.

You've begun to notice a certain feeling that comes with spending so much time alone. Maybe it has something to do with how empty the house feels without Dad, or the silence in the halls seeping its way into your bones. No matter what it is, the monotony of living like this is slowly eating away at you.

If you never left your room, you could almost believe that the game never happened.

That isn’t true, no matter how much you wish it was. The changes are everywhere. All of your posters are gone, stripped from the walls after seeing them day after day became too much. Your father’s room lurks at the end of the hall, filled with everything that reminds you him harlequins, old cake pans and icing tips; anything of his, sparing his wallet, is locked away. The house has become so empty and so white, it’s almost unbearable but you won’t change it. You’d rather live in an empty house than be faced with your mistakes at every turn.

It’s ironic that you’ve ended up like this. 

_Is irony even the right word?_ You shrug to yourself. Irony has doesn’t make any sense to you, it never has. Whatever, it’s not like Dave is here to shame you for not getting it.  

You let out a long sigh and turn over on your bed. The air conditioner whirrs to life, humming quietly in the background. You snuggle deeper into your blanket. It’s insane that you’ve been getting cold so easily lately. The cold never bothered you before, but lately you’ve found yourself shivering all the time. 

A bittersweet smile crosses your lips as you scroll through Snapchat. Your friends seem to have taken their roles on Earth C in stride. They’re thriving. You want to be happy for them like you should be, but you end up feeling jealous instead. It feels like you’re the _only_ one that’s still struggling to figure things out. It’s funny. You’d think that becoming a god would’ve helped you with all that. 

It didn’t.

A wave of dizziness hits you as you pull yourself upright. The edges of your vision darken and your head pounds.  You clutch your wrinkled sheets, trying to hold yourself steady. Gradually, it fades, leaving you slumped at the edge of your bed. 

Today is your birthday.

Today is your birthday and the house is silent. 

Today is your birthday and you haven’t heard from your friends in weeks.

Today is your birthday and the banner from two years ago still hangs as a ragged testament to how much things have changed.

Today is your birthday and there’s no cake waiting for you in the kitchen and no one to bake it.

Today is your birthday and you’re all alone.

Today is your birthday but, of course, that doesn’t matter. 

It’s not like you’ve ever cared about it anyways. 

Birthdays are dumb. The whole celebration is just a stupid way to distract people from the fact that they’re one step closer to death. That doesn’t even apply to you anymore. You’re immortal.

Suddenly, you feel gross for spending so much time doing nothing. Enough is enough; you should at least _attempt_ to be productive. You’re filled with a sudden burst of motivation as you slide off your bed.

Your determination doesn’t last long. Soon, you’re dragging your feet as you aimlessly wander across the house.

The banner from your eighteenth birthday catches your eye as you stumble past it. It’s not as nice as you remember it. It hangs low, like it could fall down at any second. The color has faded and the fabric has become weathered after hanginging outside for two years. You frown at that. Still, it has strange sort of sentimental charm that makes you glad to have kept it. 

_Maybe I should post a picture with on Snapchat._ You don’t know where the idea comes from but it’s not a bad one. Your friends will probably think it’s hilarious that you’ve kept it up all this time. _Would they still laugh if they knew the reason why?_ You wonder but quickly shake the thought from your head. It doesn’t matter.  

With that settled, you pull open the door to the balcony. It takes a few more tries to tug it open then normal, you aren’t sure why. The cold air rushes in to greet you. In an instant, your exhaustion is forgotten, shooed away by the brisk chill in the air. The concrete sends goosebumps up along your spine. 

It takes a few tries to get a decent picture. Your hand keeps shaking, making all the pictures come out blurry. You should have eaten something earlier, when you were at least a _little_ hungry. Then again, you might just be shivering. It’s pretty cold out here after all. Even when you do manage to hold the camera still, your smile is clearly forced. It would be obvious to just about anyone that things aren’t all rainbows and sunshine at the Egbert household.

The amount of retakes you’ve done is getting irritating. Your lips keep twitching, making it a struggle hold your half assed smile. Eventually, you manage to a decent picture. It’s not great, but you’re beyond caring. You post it before you can change your mind. Once you do, you rush back inside, not wanting to brave the cold any longer.   

The weight of exhaustion hits you the second you step back inside. You need to eat something, even if the mere thought of food is nauseating. With a heavy sigh, you head down stairs. 

As you walk by the living room, you’re struck with a strange sense of understanding. No matter how hard you try to ignore it, the house feels empty without Dad and your friends. The living room is barren without Dad’s clowns or your friends sitting on the couch. Without them, the house is missing something, just like you. 

Everything is different. You hardly go outside and you’ve lost the ability to give two shits about anything, even things that used to mean the world to you. But the emptiness bothers you more than anything else. It doesn't help that you and your friends don't get together as much as you used to. You can’t find it in yourself to blame them. They’re leading new and exciting lives as literal _gods,_ and you haven’t even tried to talk to them. It’s pathetic. You hardly do anything as it is but you can’t be bothered to hang out with your friends.

There is one thing that hasn't changed, now that you think about it. It's you. You’re twenty years old and you have just as much of an idea about what you're doing with your life as you did when you were twelve.

Before you know it, you’re in the kitchen. You look through the pantry for something to snack on, but there’s not much there aside from some unpopped popcorn and old boxes of mac and cheese. It’s been ages since you’ve gone grocery shopping, you forgot about that.

Your shoulders slump as you turn to the fridge. Hopefully you’ll be able to find something that won’t take too much work. You are _not_ in the mood for cooking. Unfortunately, the fridge is similarly empty. Looks like you’ll have to order out or something.

As you swing the door shut, something catches your eye, an old drawing of your’s clipped to the door of the fridge. _How long has that thing even been there?_ you ask yourself. _God, it has to be almost a decade old by now._

It’s funny, you can still remember how hard you worked on it, trying to make Slimmer look just right. Looking at it now, you can tell it’s terrible. But you were just a kid, and god awful scribbles are all that most kids are capable of. 

You remember showing it to Dad as soon as you’d finished. You weren’t completely happy with it; you hadn’t even managed to color inside the lines. But when your Dad saw it, he just smiled and ruffled your hair. He told you how proud he was and asked if he could put it on the fridge. 

A warm nostalgia pulses through your veins. It’s a bittersweet sort of feeling that you can’t quite explain. As weird as it feels, you can’t help but enjoy it. It isn’t often that getting your head stuck in the past doesn’t leave you bitter and empty. It’s nice.

On an impulse, you post a picture of the drawing on Snapchat. You leave it without a caption, unable to find right words.

You leave the kitchen and resolve to call for some pizza or something later.

Your muscles are weak, straining under your weight as you climb the stairs. On a whim, you decide against going back to your room. You know that once you go back in there, chances are slim that you’ll come out again. Instead, you continue down the hallway, guided by a, perhaps misplaced, sense of nostalgia and eventually stopping in front of your father’s room.

Part of you is still afraid go inside. The room never quite lost the forbidden aura it had when you were a kid. You know what’s in there. It’s exactly how it was before the game aside from the fact that it sort of doubles as a storage room now. You just couldn’t bring yourself to get rid of the harlequins, but you couldn’t stand looking at them every day, so you kept them there.  

You let out a long breath before you cracking the door open and walk inside. The warmth of of your nostalgia turns cold and bitter. Memories, both good and bad, of Dad fill your head. God, you miss him.

Tears are stinging at the back of your eyes again. The feeling is almost constant these days. It’s funny, in a sick way. The game is finally over and for the first time you feel like crying. But the tears don’t come, they never do. You lean up against a wall, the last of your energy deserting you, and slide to the floor. 

You wish your friends were here; the loneliness in this house is becoming unbearable. All you had to do was ask. They probably would come if you did, but you can't bring yourself to. Your friends are busy with their own lives now; you can’t force them to come over you just because you’re a little lonely. Besides, you don’t want them to see you like this.

Even if they were here, it wouldn’t help anything. Sure, you’d, act like everything's alright, which it is, you would chat, maybe even crack a real smile, but eventually they would leave. And when they did, you’d be alone, just like before. 

_How did I get like this?_ Your friends didn’t push you away, they’d never do that. _It must be my fault,_ you realize.

Of course, you should have known better.


	2. John: Make a decision you'll regret later

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John can't hide things much longer.

**BANG!**

For a moment, you stand frozen and panting in disbelief as the crash of your hammer echos through your house. Adrenaline pumps through your veins; you feel more awake than you have in weeks. Slowly, you lift the hammer off the remains of your phone, before slamming it down again.

**BANG!**

All the stress, hate, and frustration you’ve been clinging to finally has a release. You should have done the his ages ago.

**BANG!**

Now those fucking assholes can't harass you.

**BANG!**

You don't have to see how much happier everyone else is.

**BANG!**

You won’t be reminded that your wasting yours.

**BANG!**

You can stop feeling like a terrible friend for getting jealous of your friends like you always do.

**BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!  BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!  BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!**

    

 

                                                          BANG!  

 

                                                                                                                                                                                      Bang!

  
  
  


        Bang.

  


       

  
  
  


                                                                                                     bang.

 

The hammer slips from your hand with a low thud. You sink to your knees. Sweat trickles down your face and soaks your back. Your breath gradually evens out as you stare at the carnage of your outburst.

 _What did I just do?_ The last few minutes don’t even feel real. All the emotion, the energy, feel like something from a fever dream.

Your phone has been reduced to bits of glass and circuitry scattered across the carpet. A mix of numbness and disbelief spreads throughout your body. You’ve just destroyed the only thing that keeps you connected with the rest of the world. The worst part is that you aren't sure if you regret it. 

Part of you does feel guilty. There’s no doubt that your friends are going to be worried sick when they realize that they can’t get ahold of you. Sure, you still have a laptop, but you aren’t ready to face them right now. You don't have the answers they need. 

Your act has started to slip lately. It hasn't gotten bad enough for most of your friends to realize it yet but you’re sure that Rose has. You’re never able to hide things from her, not completely. Soon enough though, your friends are bound to start piecing things together. God, you're such a burden on them. They have their own problems to think about, they don't need yours added to the mix.

That’s the whole point of keeping up this happy-go-lucky act of yours, isn’t it? When things got rough in Sburb, _someone_ had stand up and be the rock for everyone else. Even when there wasn’t much to smile about you kept on smiling, someone had to, even if they were fake. It was your job. It had given you a purpose for a long time, but no one needed it anymore. Even if they did, you can’t keep up the act like you used to.

Maybe… maybe you should stop. Your entire existence is useless and pathetic. You should just stop before you can ruin anything else. A wispy smile stretches across your lips. You could go outside and fly again, just like you used to. Floating next to the clouds, it would be so incredibly nostalgic. Then you could just stop, and let yourself come careening back to the earth.

You chuckle to yourself. The sound is hollow and broken. The thought of dying like that is comforting, in a sick and twisted way, but you doubt it’s possible. It wouldn't fulfill the requirements to end your immortality. You’re stuck here, living day after day as a useless god, all alone in an empty house.

A faint tingling pricks your feet. _Shit, they must have fallen asleep._ You graciously divert your thoughts, thankful for a distraction. You cringe as you slowly maneuver your feet out from under you, each movement setting off the god forsaken tingling in your legs. When the sensation finally fades, you carefully stand yourself up. Your back aches from sitting like that for so long. It pops and strains as stretch. You relish the feeling.  

You abandon the hammer in the hallway in favor of heading back upstairs. As you pass through the living room, a chill goes down your spine.

After your outburst, the quiet emptiness of your house is amplified. You can hear the air rushing in and out of your lungs with each slow ragged breath, the sound of your feet dragging across the old shag carpet as you walk, and your heart beat drumming, slow and incessant, in your ears. It’s all so loud and so unbearably silent.

The trek upstairs is uncomfortable. You feel on edge for some reason, expecting someone to sneak up behind you every other second. Something is off. You don’t know what, but the feeling is unshakeable. Then again, you could just be confusing guilt and for something else. You’ve never been good at sorting out your emotions. They’re always so muddled and contradictory.

You don’t remember walking into your room. When you’d come up here, you’d planned to just wander around until this weird feeling went away. But here you are, standing in front of your unmade bed, with only a foggy memory of how you got here.

Exhaustion washes over you as the panic and adrenaline ebbs away. Your body is unbearably heavy, like your bones are made of lead. You let yourself go limp and collapse face-first onto your mattress. For a few moments you just lay there, thankful to whatever subconscious forces led you here, before lazily crawling under the covers.

You don't want to think anymore.

Sleep. You want to sleep and forget all the terrible things that happen because you’re impulsive and thoughtless. You’ve made so many life changing decisions on a passing whim, and you regret so many of them.

That game, that god forsaken game, that you were so determined to play, you regret more than anything else. It was supposed to be fun, an adventure for you and your friends. What a pipe dream. That game was hell. So many people died...  so, so many. You died too, but you don’t count. You deserve everything you got in that game. Every death, every wound, every last moment of pain you suffered was justified. 

 _What the hell am I doing? I’m supposed to be sleeping._ You let out an exhausted breath, curl into yourself, and pray for a dreamless sleep.

 

**== > John: Be the other guy.**

 

You are Dave Strider and you’re seriously worried about John. No one’s been able to get ahold of him. Of course, you’re still keeping your cool. It would be a disgrace to the Strider legacy not to. Any self-respecting descendant of the Strider clan knows that Striders never lose their cool, no matter what. All this goes without saying, but you’re explaining it just in case any secret government agencies, ignorant of the Strider way, are listening to your thoughts.  

While you’re determined to keep a level head in all this, you’re also totally flipping your shit. Shit’s getting flipped all over the place. Nothing is safe from this, The Great Flipping of Shit. Tables, chairs, pan-cooked breakfast items; it’s all getting flipped. Nothing will be spared. If it can be flipped, flipped it shall be. It’s like a mother fucking IHop up in this bitch. But there isn’t a moment that you let that get the best of you. You’re still cool as a cucumber. Not just any cucumber either, this cucumber is as cool as they get. It’s got its shit together, no student loans, a good part time job, and its life all planned out after collage.

Okay, even you can admit that last analogy was stupid. Whatever, you have more important things to deal with.

You sit, slumped on the couch between Karkat and Jade.

Both you and Jade had given up trying to get a reply out of John after the first half hour, but Karkat was not about to give up so easily. The troll has been spamming John with walls of gray text filled with equal parts swearing and genuine concern, for over an hour now. The only time he stopped was to get an icepack to keep his laptop from overheating. It’s hard not to feel like you’re not doing enough watching him send message after message to the ever unresponsive John.

Jade’s couch is becoming ridiculously uncomfortable. It’s not the couch’s fault of course, it did nothing wrong. In the end it is you, the people who have nurtured and sat on it since it was new and comfortable, that are at fault. Sitting on the same exact spot on this couch, year after year, is bound to make the cushions lumpy. You have a moment of silence for the couch’s inevitable fate of being replaced. It served you well.

You shift in your seat, hunching over to a degree that would put the hunchback of fucking Notre Dame to shame. Seriously, Jade needs to get a new couch.

You’re still trying to help, even if you’ve given up on messaging John. For a while, you’ve been scrolling through Snapchat, old conversations, anything that might help to piece together the reason behind John’s behavior. It isn’t helping much; psychology is Rose’s thing, not yours. All it’s done is flood you with guilt. Taking a second look at all the pictures and chat logs, you can tell something was wrong. You can’t pin down what was but you know it’s there.

This shouldn’t be your first time realizing this. You’re John’s self-proclaimed best bro, compadre, wingman, confidant, and partner in crime. Of all people, you should’ve seen that something was up with him. There’s probably been something wrong for a while now, but you’ve been too consumed by your own escapades to notice. Some best friend you are.

“Dave?” Jade startles you when she pipes up, but you don’t let it show. “Are you alright?”

She stares right past your shades. The intensity or her gaze makes you want to squirm. Ugh, Jade has some of the worst Mom Eyes **TM** ever. The name was coined by John ages ago. It’s that unavoidable yet terrifying look, normally possessed by moms and teachers with a only a select few exceptions. Even without much personal experience with, you know that there’s no better name for it. 

“I’m fine Jade, don’t worry about it,” you reply.

Doubt immediately floods her gaze. You stiffen. She doesn’t believe you. Well, shit. That’s just fucking great, isn’t it?

She furrows her brow, determination flashing across her eyes. Double shit. You know that look too god damned well. That’s the look she gets when she’s about to dig her heels in. You’ve got to get out of this, that girl is way too damn stubborn sometimes. 

“Have you been able to get ahold of Rose?” You blurt out the question hoping to distract her.

Jade narrows her eyes questioningly, but sighs in surrender. “Yes I have. She’s going to see if Kanaya will be okay on her own for a bit and come over as soon as she can.”

“Okay, sounds good,” you say, slowly nodding your head. “Thanks Jade.”  

 

**== > Dave: Go back to being John.**

 

You are John, and you are so happy. Your body feels light and warm. It’s amazing, foreign, almost, to feel such pure and honest joy.

Your family is here, your dad, your _real_ dad. Jane’s dad is amazing, and you’re grateful to have the weird relationship with him that you do, but he’s still not _your_ dad. You’d expect yourself to be shocked, at the very least, upon seeing him. But, somehow, seeing the man alive and still donning his fedora feels strangely normal. You’re taking full advantage of it, hugging the life out of him at every chance you get.

Your Grandma is here too, somehow alive again, and no longer a sprite. That feels strangely normal too. There’s also Jane, Jade, and Jake, chatting with you in the dining room.

This entire scenario is impossible, you know that, but you try not to think too hard about it. You haven’t genuinely smiled this much in years, and you’re not about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

You can see Dad and Grandma working in the kitchen, just off the dining room. You’ve never been more happy to have the smell of overly sweet cake wafting through the air.   

Warm shafts of sunlight are cast through the window, giving the room an almost golden hue. A red tablecloth stretches over the table where you talk with Jake, Jade, and Jane. The nice plates and silverware are set on the table, it strikes you as strange given that they’re supposed to be reserved for special occasions. 

Everyone’s voices and laughs fill the house and, for the first time in ages, it feels like home again.

Dinner is ready soon enough. You help bring the food to the table and make sure to thank your dad and grandma before taking your seat. Instantly, the warmth fades and the room is tinged a pale blue. All the things that struck you as odd about this situation are suddenly amplified. A cold bolt of terror runs down your spine. You do your best to act normal in spite of it, engaging in idle chit-chat, smiling as if nothing is wrong.

Dad gets up to use the bathroom halfway through the meal. The second he closes the bathroom door, you heard the shower turn on. You don’t have a shower in the downstairs bathroom. You understand what’s going on, but you’re afraid to question it further.

When everyone is done with dinner, you excuse yourself to the bathroom. You figure that Dad must done by now, even though you haven’t seen him since. The bathroom is not empty when you open the door.

Everyone’s eyes turn to you, as you stare at them in shock and horror. Your father is still there, fully clothed, with a shower, that _apparently_ exists now, running behind him. Jane stands behind him on hand firmly clasped on Dad’s shoulder, the other keeping his hands held behind his back.

Jade is stands the closest, a smile lighting her face when she sees you. “Oh John, you’re here!” she chirps. “I was beginning to think I was going to have to go get you!”

You take a step back, terrified by where this seems to be heading. _What is she talking about?_

“Anyway,” she continues. “Jane and I were wondering if you’d like to join us?” She gestures to a rusty box cutter she has gripped in her left hand, then to your father.

It doesn’t take you long to put two and two together. You back away, only managing to shake your head in reply.

Jane pouts at your reaction. “John, don’t be a spoil sport,” she whines.

Your dad nods at this, much to your horror. “Come on Son, there’s nothing to be afraid of.”

A cold bolt of fear runs through you. _Wait… so that’s it then, everyone is okay with this?_ The thought makes you shudder, but you can't deny it.

“Well, John?” Jade asks eagerly. “Are you going to join us or not?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Strap in folks, this is going to be one hell of a ride.


	3. John: Answer her.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John is tortured by his subconscious and his friends are worried sick.

_“Well, John?” Jade asks eagerly. “Are you going to join us or not?”_

Words are lost to you. The best you can manage is a stiff shake of your head as you back away.

Jane lets out a disappointed sigh. “Your loss John.”

Your eyes are transfixed as Jade raises the rusty blade above your father’s chest. Dad isn’t struggling. His face is apathetic, waiting patiently for the blade to come down and embed itself in his chest. The tension is unbearable, the sound of the shower thunders in your ears, growing louder and louder with each passing second. Jade stands, silent and still as agonizing seconds pass. Then, finally, the tension breaks. Jade’s hands swing forward, you tear your eyes away, your foot nearly slips out from under you as you hurriedly turn away and run.

Your hands are pressed desperately against your ears in a futile attempt to block out your father’s unbearable screams and the rushing of the shower. It’s useless. The noise continues to grow louder and louder, to the point of being almost deafening no matter how hard you try to block it out. You stand petrified in the unusually dim light of your living room, praying for this nightmare to end.

The feeling of a cautious hand on your shoulder makes you go tense. Suddenly, everything goes quiet. You whip around to see Jake, his concern written all over his face.

“Are you alright chap?” he asks tentatively.

A wave of relief washes over you. Whatever happened to everyone else doesn’t seem to have affected Jake… not yet at least. You attempt to give him a proper reply but you find that you’re still unable to form words properly so you settle for an unsteady shake of your head.

“What are you two boys doing in here?” Both of your heads jerk up to see your grandmother standing in the doorway.

“Well you see, Mrs.Egbert,” Jake begins, the grounding presence of his hand leaving your shoulder. “I noticed that good ol’ John here hadn’t turned up for a good while, so I went off in search of him.” He pauses for a moment, his gaze lingering on the floor. “Unfortunately, the poor fellow doesn’t seem to be doing too well.”

Worry flashes across your grandmother’s features. She quickly shuffles over to you, her eyes filled with a certain warmth that can only come from a grandmother. “What is the matter my dear?”

You open and close your mouth a few times but say nothing. After a few tries, though, your voice finally cooperates. “I-I saw J-j-jade and-d Jane, th-they were w-with my D-dad, a-a-and th-th-they,” you cut yourself off for a moment, frustrated by the unsteadiness of your words. You take a deep breath before continuing. “They asked m-me to h-help-p them k-k-k-kill him.”

Their expressions suddenly turn confused.

“That’s all?” Jake asks, barely stifling a shocked chuckle.

You nod, unease churning in your belly.

“Thank goodness,” he sighs. “You had me going for a moment there.”

Your grandmother hums in agreement. “Yes, I’m glad to hear that it isn’t anything serious.”

“What?” You croak, slowly backing away from the two of them.

Grandma’s brow furrows, “We all know that murder isn’t anything to raise alarm. We’ve each killed each other enough times to know that” Genuine concern washes over her face as she noticed her alarm. “Come on now John, you know this better than any of us. You’ve killed each of us more times than  can keep track off.”

Her words only push you further into paranoia and fear. The two of them stare at you seemingly baffled at your behavior. _Why couldn’t things have stayed happy, like they were in the beginning._ You suppose you should have known better; you don’t deserve such nice things. 

You want to run when you notice your grandmother pulling a pistol out of her apron, but your feet are rooted at the spot. She takes the gun and places it in your hand, gently curling your fingers around the grip. 

“Shoot me John,” she commands.

“No,” you breath, tears welling in your eyes.

“I won't be angry, you know that,” she coos.

You don't reply.

Suddenly, she grabs the barrel of your gun and pulls you forward. Her gaze turns cold as she presses the muzzle into her chest.  “Shoot me right here deary, right in the heart.”

You finally find the will to move, toss the gun aside, and run to the garage. No one tries to stop you. That should be a relief but it only adds to your unease. You shake your head and push it aside. Right now you need a plan. _The car! I can take the car and escape from this fucking nightmare. Perfect._

You cautiously walk into the garage. It’s warm and musty. Disorganized boxes and clutter line the walls, making it feel incredibly cramped. It’s odd to find the garage in such a state. After all, your father had always prided himself on being neat and tidy.

You only make it a few steps inside before feeling the cold muzzle of a gun pressing into your back. The hairs on the back of your neck stand on end, and your heart pounds in a relentless rhythm against your ribs. Sweat trickles down your forehead. Shakily, you crane your neck and catch a glimpse of the gun's owner.   
  
It's Jake.   
  
"Easy there John," he chides. "Just do as I say, understand?"   
  
You nod stiffly, too terrified to do anything else.   
  
"Good," he says warmly. Then his entire demeanor shifts, becoming cold and unstable. "Now, get in the car."   
  
You swallow thickly, almost numb as he shoves you into the back seat. The moment he slams the door behind you, you find yourself somewhere else entirely.

Everything is green. Everything, the sky, the sidewalk, the houses lining the street, all of it's green. Green, there is so much of it everywhere you look. _Why? Why is everything green?_ You close your eyes for a moment and take a deep breath, trying to calm down enough to get a solid grasp of where the hell you are.

Slowly your breathing evens out and you reopen your eyes. You’re standing in the middle of the road, on a street lined by houses identical to your own. And yes, everything is green. _Wait, no, that’s not true_ You realise as you give your surroundings a closer inspection. The windows on all the houses glow with a warm but vivid yellow light,and the slick pavement shines with mysterious blue reflections.

Something crunches beneath your feet. You glance down and see a box, or what you assume was a box at some point. Now, the majority of whatever it was is scattered beneath your feet. It’s green, of course, just like everything else. There’s something vaguely familiar about it that leaves you uneasy. It isn't much is only bigger than a lunch box, or at least you think it is. It's hard to tell with the thing in pieces. Either way, you feel silly for letting something as small as this bother you at all.

The wrongness that saturates this place is driving you mad. You can’t bare another second of it. So, you take the only logical course of action. You run away.

You manage to get yourself good and lost in a matter of minutes but you are also not in that green suburb anymore. Now, you are standing in front of a classy hotel trimmed in gold and marble, it is truly a sight taken right out of old Hollywood. There is something off about this place too that makes your skin crawl. Despite that you find yourself being drawn forward through the front doors.

Now there is not a doubt in your mind that there is something terribly, terribly wrong here. This hotel’s lobby doesn't look like lobbies are supposed to. There is blood everywhere. God… You turn back to try and escape this horror show and go back out the front door but there is no door. You're trapped.

You hear something behind you, you don’t know what it is but you do not want to find out. You start running like hell.

 

**== > John: Be the angry one**

 

You are now Karkat and you refuse to stop spamming John, even if you are less than a fucking block away from his house. That pathetic excuse for a nook sniffer still hasn’t responded. You're willing to bet that the airhead little shit doesn’t have a goddamn clue how worried he’s making everyone. Even Dave, Mr. I’m-going-to-be-an-apathetic-fucking-asshole-most-of-the-time-because-it’s-ironic-or-some-stupid-bullshit-that-anyone-with-even-a-single-braincell-can-recognise-is-asinine, is starting to express something other than being an emotionally constipated prick. Even the most wanktastic, empty headed, douchewaffle knows that Dave expressing anything with the barest resemblance to genuine emotion, means that the infernal pile of shit they’re stepping in is about to get deep enough to rival the Mariana Trench. 

"Alright, thank you all for waiting for me." You glance up to see Rose. She’s finally here, praise the fucking heavens. Dave’s incessant pacing was starting push the limits of how much of his obnoxious behavior you can handle at once without punching someone.

“Of course Rose.” Jade smiles, her voice bright and seemingly free of worry. You have to hand it to the girl, out of the three of you, she’s the only one who’s managed to keep a level head.

“Thank you Jade,” Rose replies warmly before turning serious. “Now, about John.”

Dave stops pacing a goddamn hole in the ground at the mention of John.

Rose takes a long breath before continuing. “Did anyone else ever notice that John never cries?”

_Holy fucking hell, is that right? No. There’s no fucking way that John, the defiantely childish little ball of blue dorkiness, doesn’t cry_ . You frantically search your thoughts for something, _anything_ , to prove that Rose is spouting a bunch of brainless bullshit, but you find nothing. The gravity of the finally begins to settle in. Like it or not, none of a fucking clue about what’s going on with John.

“I know that John likes to make himself seem like nothing can get to him,” she explains. “But no one can keep up an act like that forever. It isn’t normal for someone to make it out of something so horrible without ending up with some form of trauma.”

_Goddamn it, she’s making sense._ Fuck, you feel like an asinine excuse of a douchebag for not being able to see something so obvious. _I should have know better. I should have know. I should have fucking known._

“Judging by his recent outburst, I am inclined to believe that John has been repressing his trauma for years, in order to try cope. That being said, there is a limit to what the mind can suppress and I believe that John is reaching his. Now, there is the possibility tha-”

“Okay, so what the fuck can we do about this shit? Right now, all I’m getting from this is that we were all too consumed by our own bullshit to notice that something was wrong. And, excuse me if I’m wrong, but that isn’t exactly helping anything.” You feel a twinge of guilt for interrupting her but you have a feeling that if you didn’t, the lot of you would be in for one of Rose’s psychology dissertations.

She’s visibly pissed that at you for cutting her off, but she'll live. “Fine, I'll cut to the chase. It's hard to tell what state John’s going to be in at the moment, but whatever it is, all of us showing up at once is more than likely to overwhelm him. However, someone does need to go there and check on him.”

 

**== > Karkat: Be the one that needs to be checked on.  **

 

It only takes you an instant to escape the maze of green houses, but it also feels like it took an eternity. Time must be playing tricks on you or something. You aren’t going to question it, Dave had taught you not to think too hard about weird time stuff ages ago. It doesn’t matter much in the long run anyway, as long as you’re not anywhere near your house you’ll be fine. 

You take a moment to admire the grandiose building before you. It’s a hotel. Marble pillars, gold trim, and all the embellishments you can immagine surround the doorway. It’s the type of thing that could only exist in a fantastical world like _The Great Gatsby._ A lingering feeling of unease nags at you as you inch closer. Slowly, you walk across the lush red carpet beckoning you forward, unable to fight the force drawing you in.

A rancid smell hits you the instant you step through those doors. You stand staring at the sight before you in blank horror. This is not what lobbies are supposed to look like.There’s blood everywhere you look. There is so much… so much. The smell alone is nauseating. 

You flinch out of your near panic when you feel something warm and wet drip from the ceiling. Your body goes stiff as the warm substance trickles down the side of your face. The sensation is nauseating. You go against every instinct in your body screaming at you to run, and slowly tilt your head up toward the ceiling. The sight that greets you is twisted and grotesque.

Mangled corpses hang above you, tangled in a huge crystal chandelier. It creaks ominously as it lazily swings from side to side, like it’s threatening to come crashing down at any second. Your eyes flick form one body to the next looking for something to deny the cold realization that’s slowly creeping over you. But the longer you look, the less doubt you have that these bodies, they’re everyone that died in the game. Dad, Rose, Dave, Jade, Jake, Dirk, Vriska... All of them hang, their bodies more broken and bloodied than should be physically possible, tangled in that god forsaken chandelier.

You force yourself to look away, resisting the urge to spill your guts. _I need to wake up! Come on John, wake up damn it!_ The best you can manage is a vague sense of awareness. The reassurance that this isn’t real and you’re still curled up in your bed doesn’t bring you much comfort.

A low growl rumbles behind you. Heavy, warm breaths tickle at the back of your neck. You force yourself to resist the urge to turn and catch a glimpse of the thing lurking behind you. Instead, you take off in a dead sprint.

 

**== > Dave: Volunteer as tribute.**The words spill from you lips before you can stop them. “I'll do it.”

 

Rose stops, mid explanation, and stares at you. Her stare is on a completely different level from Jade’s mom eyes. Rose’s are more along the lines of: I know at least five different ways I could kill you for what you just did, and I am currently considering each and every one of them. 

“Sorry.” Your voice cracks, which you're pretty sure shouldn't be impossible. Puberty had finally taken mercy on your poor teenage soul years ago. Thus you were finally allowed a chance to make your escape from its unforgiving grasp. Now, you should free to relish in the sweet taste of adulthood. All the awkward voice cracks and the idiotic obsessions of your younger self are supposed to be behind you now.

After a moment of painfully fucking awkward silence, Rose finally gets back to what she’s saying. “Actually, I was going to suggest that Jade was the first one to go check on John.”

 Right, Jade is John’s family. She's the obvious choice.

“I don't know Rose,” Jade begins uncertainly. You stare at her in complete and utter disbelief. She sounds so unsure of herself, a tone of voice that doesn't belong anywhere near the confidant Jade Harley you know. “It's John's birthday remember? I don't want him seeing me and being reminded of his dad or something. I mean, we are family, and I know this is probably a delicate situation, so I can’t help but think that maybe it would be better if someone else went.”

Rose’s expression softens. “Of course Jade, I won't push you if you don't feel comfortable with it.” She lets out a sigh and reluctantly turns back to you. “Alright, Dave I suppose it will fine if you go.” Her eyes narrow and her voice becomes stern. “However, I can only condone this if Karkat goes with you. I don't trust _either_ of you to handle yourselves alone in a worst case scenario.”

“Wait a fucking second!” Oh shit, Karkat looks like he's about to flip his shit. Crap, you already did so much shit flipping earlier. You doubt that there is much left for anyone after such a crusade. That's not gonna sit well with Karkat. “How about we all pretend that we have at least a modicum of the intelligence of of the intelligences of a shitty nineteeneighties mini fridge, okay? Anyone with _at least_ that much of a brain cell could tell that Rose should be the one going in there. She’s the only one of us who has an actual fucking clue about how to handle these kinds of situations.”  He pauses for a moment to gather his himself. “How is this even a question?”

Rose takes a long slow breath. Well damn, he's in for it now. “Well, if you must know , it is because I am ‘qualified’ that I shouldn't be the first one to go in there. John wouldn't see me as being there as his friend but as someone who's aching to pick apart his brain for an explanation. That isn't what he needs right now. Right now John needs friends, meaning you and Dave. Any more objections?” She waits for a moment before clapping her hands together and letting a satisfied smile cross her lips. “Great! Make sure to let us know how things go as soon as possible.”  

You quickly nod and start walking down to John's house, doing your god damned best not to seem rushed. You aren’t even going to make a feeble attempt to lie to yourself and say you were even the slightest bit successful, because you definitely were not. Hell, you are having a hard time simply keeping yourself from running, but can anyone blame you? This is about John; your top priority.

 

**== > Dave: Be your top priority.**

 

You lost track of how long you’d been running a while ago, your lungs burning. The adrenaline rush that had kept you going this long was fading and you are forced to stop. You collapse against a wall, relishing in its cool surface on your burning skin. The hallways are silent. It's gone. Whatever that horrible thing was, it isn’t chasing you anymore. Your muscles slacken with relief. 

“Hello there,” the soft voice of a young girl startles you. Somehow you’d thought you were alone here, which was silly; this is a hotel. There are supposed to be people at hotels. You are such an airhead. 

An icy chill settles in your bones when you turn look at her. She looks like something that walked straight out of a cartoon. Her head is wildly out of proportion to the rest of her body; you’re shocked it hasn’t snapped her neck. Her whole body is impossibly small and twig like. It’s gross. Any second now, it feels like her body is going to collapse in on itself. She is absolutely tiny; she doesn’t even make it above your knees. The girl’s eyes are disturbingly large; their hauntingly pale blue color highlighted by her dull brown. None of this is what actually strikes you about her. No, the thing that disturbs you the most is the red thread that is tightly wound around her body.

Another realization hits you like an eighteen wheeler. You aren’t in the lobby anymore. This place is white and sterile, like some sort of hospital but not quite. A calm petrifying thought enters your mind. This is an asylum.  There isn’t a single trace of the lobby anywhere. Somehow, the absence of lobby terrifies you more than the gruesome sights that filled it.

Numbly, you begin to wander the monotonous corridors, ignoring the girl entirely. You are in an asylum for a reason, so odds are that she’s just a figment of your screwed up imagination. The further you walk the more you begin to noticing part of the hall flickering, like it's part of a glitchy map from some low budget game. It’s weird, and unnerving.

God, why does it keep getting worse the further you walk?  You want to turn around and run but something is stopping you. The entire hallway is flickering now, in and out of existence, until finally… it’s gone and you’re left in pitch black void.

Your body goes still. For a moment you are sure you feel something touching the back of your neck, but it is so brief that you're sure you imagined it.

There it is again. Fuck . Before you have a chance to process what's going on, something wet and vile wraps around your throat. You desperately try to pry it off. Despite the undeniable feeling around your throat, your hands can grasp at nothing. There isn't anything there; it’s just you.  There’s nothing you can do to stop it’s grip from tightening.

You can’t breath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm proud of how this turned out


	4. John: Don't think, act

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John is okay. He's always okay. That's just who he is.

You are not in the void any more.  You are sitting in front of a man’s desk in a film noir style office. The whole place is dusty and dark but it’s sort of fitting and cool in a way. There are way too many books, papers, and useless knick knacks crammed onto any available shelf space, it looks like a bit of a dump now that you think about it.

“Hello, John,” the man says as reaches for your hand, giving it a firm shake before leaning back in his chair. “Please do excuse the the incompetence of my staff in failing to show you to your room as I instructed them.”

You nod slowly but don't reply. His voice sounds like your father’s but at the same time, not quite. He is nicely dressed, in a collared shirt and tie but you can't see his face. You guess it's because it's so dark in here but even then. Could it be him? It's not possible for it to be but that does not stop the childish hope from springing up in your mind.

“Pardon me, I did not introduce myself,” he continues. “I am the owner of this fine establishment.”

You nod again, unable to find the words to reply.

“Alright son, please enjoy your stay.”

You nod for a third fucking time before slowly getting up and walk to the door. The light creeps in from the hallway as you open it. It’s fairly dim but you can't help but squint after being in the dark for so long. You close  the door behind you and wait for your eyes to adjust.

The carpet is a deep crimson. It reminds you of the color of blood. But the walls are nice; they're covered in some vaguely tacky wallpaper, but they're worn and it's hard to tell what they were originally supposed to look like. The whole place looks kind of worn down actually. You're back in the hotel, or at least you think you are. What you assume are rooms line both sides of a seemingly endless maze of hallways stretching in both directions. Did you ever leave at all? ..Or was that whole thing part of the lobby? A shiver goes down your spine thinking about it.

“Oh, Honey would you look at that there's a new guest here,” a robust voice comes from behind you.

You spin to see who it is, expecting the worst but are pleasantly surprised. You find a man, standing with what you assume are his wife and three sons, outside of one rooms. The man is is very round, for lack of a better way to put it. He reminds you of a mayor of a small southern town for some reason. You could swear that he walked right out of some movie you watched ages ago but can't remember the title of.

“Nice to meet you young man,” he smiles warmly. “This is my wife and our three kids.”

“Nice to meet you too.” You're not sure why he's bothering with introducing you, it’s kind of strange.

“We just wanted to wish you a nice stay here.”

“Right… thank you,” you reply stiffly. You are about to turn away and head off to escape the uncomfortable atmosphere when you catch the eyes of one of the boys and something makes you stop. “Is he okay?”

The man follows your gaze to what appears to be his eldest son and lets out a grief laden sigh. “Well, you see, my wife and I have been trying to have a child like that man over there.”  He points to a portrait of a man hanging across the hall. He is wearing your god tier robes, except he wears them well. He doesn’t look like some kid who’s trying to pretend he’s a hero, he looks noble and brave. He is so different from you. His smile isn’t forces like yours is... he's everything you should be but aren't.

“My eldest blames himself for not coming out the way he was supposed to. And as frustrating as it is, it’s not his fault,” he goes on, “It’s been over now and we can’t seem to get our sons to turn out right.”  

As baffled as the man seems it’s obvious to you. You can tell by just looking at the couple that there is no possible way that any their sons will ever turn out the way they want, no matter how many times they try.  You open your mouth to try and explain things to them but there is something about the look in the man’s eyes that stops you.

You close your mouth and walk away without another word.  

None of the doors have numbers, in fact you haven’t anything to distinguish one hall from another. It’s just hall after hall of doors. You wonder if you should try opening one, the curiosity is killing you and none of them seems to have locks. Something makes you stop dead in your tracks, you turn to see another door. It is identical to the others, but there is just something about it that makes you feel like you have no choice in the matter.

You open the door.

 

**== > John: Wake up.**

 

The dream ends before you can catch a glimpse of what lies beyond the door. Your eyes flicker open, squinting at the light filtering in through your window. It takes a moment for you to realize that you’re shaking. Your dream wasn’t all that scary, definitely not scary enough to warrant shaking like this.

A residue of paranoia and self-disgust sticks to your skin. It's gross. Something about the dream is haunting you. It feels like your own mind is turning against you; breaking through every single layer of lies, repression, and denial you've put up and touching something terrifying and feral beneath.

_What was beyond that door?_ That question hounds you with a crippling curiosity that you find difficult to ignore. You’re probably better off not knowing, but that doesn't keep it from nagging at you.

You want to punch something. You want to go out and be reckless, get into a drunken brawl in some sleazy bar, destroy things, rip them to shreds. You want to do _something_. You want to hurt. You deserve it. You don’t do any of these things.  

You stare at the blank walls surrounding your bed. You kind of wish they still looked like they did it when you were thirteen, covered in all your gaming and movie posters. That thought makes you smile. Then it doesn’t. Alongside those posters were the poorly drawn harlequins, and slanderous words that you refused to see. Now, the walls of your room are bare and it bothers you.

You numbly rummage through your nightstand. The sensations on you finger tips and the movements of your muscles feel distant like you’re an unwelcome guest intruding on someone else's body.  Everything around you is beginning to feel strangely digital, like something out of a videogame.

You find a stash of colored pencils buried in the top drawer of your nightstand. You pull them out and grasp them tight in your fist. You stand up on your mattress; your movements are careful and thoughtlessly detached. Slowly, you face your walls and recreate the graffiti that once covered them.

 

**== > John: Be the the other guy a few minutes in the past but not many.**

 

You are Dave Strider and you are _definitely_ not standing in front of your best bro’s door looking like a baffled idiot. Only an unenlightened onlooker might be ignorant enough to assume such blasphemy. No, you are simply deeply immersed in strategizing the best way of entering John’s house. Any Strider worth his salt knows that one must carefully plan their approach in a situation like this. It’s imperative to do this, in order to ensure optimal stealth and minimal fucking up. It is the Strider way.

“What's the fucking hold up?” Karkat grumbles from behind you.

“Shush.” You hold up your hand to signal for quiet, but don’t turn to face him. “I need absolute silence.”

“Dave,” Karkat sighs, grabbing your shoulder and forcing you to look at him. “If you don't stop standing there like a dumbass without a thinkpan, so help me fucking God I will shove your shitty sunglasses up your ass and open the door myself.”

Karkat is not a happy camper. He's more like the camper who was forced to go to a shitty, run down summer camp last minute by his parents. Then, because he had to rush packing, he forgot to bring any socks and was forced to walk around sockless and blistered. He’s the camper that got food poisoning from the cafeteria, all three times that he actually trusted the questionable slop enough to eat. Not to mention, falling in the lake four consecutive times. Karkat is a pissed fucking camper on a bloodthirsty quest to avenge the summer, of sleeping and never leaving the house, he was denied.

“Look, man I'm strategizing.”

“You're strategizing how to open a fucking door.” Karkat looks like he's about to fucking lose it.

“Yes I am.”

“Are you fucking serious?” he growls out, practically in awe of how stupid he thinks you are right now.

“Why would I lie to you,” you drawl teasingly.

Much to your surprise, Karkat doesn't start yelling and slinging insults at you. Instead,   his voice is uncharacteristically calm, almost soothing. “Look, Dave, I know that you're having a hard time dealing with this whole thing with John.” He holds up his hand, stopping your reply before you have the chance to form one. “Whether you want to admit it or not, it’s painfully fucking obvious to everyone else.  I get it, you're worried about the little shit, so am I, but you need to calm the fuck down.”

You will yourself to deny it, you want to so damn bad, but the words won’t come. The accuracy of what he said makes you falter. You can pretend to have everything under control all you want, but no one’s falling for your pathetic act.

_I’m scared of opening a fucking door. “I’m strategizing.” That’s bullshit, and I know it._ What lies beyond that door terrifies you to no end. It could be anything _. Hell, coming here could make things worse for all I know._ God, you don’t think you could forgive yourself if you screwed shit up even worse. _Shit, fuck, crap, damn, I can’t fuck up right now._

“Hey dipshit,” Karkat calls from behind you. You whip around to see him strolling into John’s living room. “You coming?”

You nod numbly. “How did you-”

“The door was unlocked.”

“Oh.”

A chill settles over you as you step through the threshold. It’s so quiet. _What if John isn’t even here anymore?_ Fuck, you hadn’t even thought of that.

“Close the door behind you, Fuckass.” Karkat scowls keeping his voice strangely low.

You silently turn and shut the door behind you. There is a moment you hesitate slightly before speaking. “Maybe we should split up.”

“What the fuck?” Karkat looks at you like you’d just suggested frolicking through a field of man eating flowers. “Were you not listening to what said literally a few fucking seconds ago? Did you even not hear Rose? Seriously, you idiot, what is wrong with you? You can’t be fucking trusted to handle yourself right now.”

Christ, Karkat is being an ass, not that he isn’t normally an ass, but it seems like he’s trying extra hard today. “Look Karkat, I get it, you don’t want me to freak out John. But give me a fucking break. I do have _some_ self control, you know. I mean, holy shit man, I’m not going to have some gigantic emotional outburst when I see him. I can fucking handle myself.” Bitterness seeps into your words in spite of you trying your damned hardest to keep your voice steady and quiet.

You don’t give him the chance to reply before storming off. Whatever he has to say now, you don't want to hear it.

To your surprise, Karkat doesn’t even try follow you. Good. You’ve had more than enough of his grumpy ass to hold you over for a lifetime. Karkat and Rose don’t know what they’re talking about. It’s not like they _actually_ know what goes on in your head. They aren't fucking psychic.

You’re _fine_. In fact, you’re better than fine, you’ve got your shit handled like a fucking pro. Gone, is your internal shit flipping self, and here, to take his place is Dave Strider: Professional Shit Handler. All that flipped shit from earlier better prepare itself. Tables, get ready to be turned right side up, chairs, you’d better be prepared to be put in the correct place around the unflipped table, and pan cooked breakfast items, keep doing what you’re doing. No one wants the delectable taste of pan cooked cakes to be tarnished and burnt due to lack of flipping.

As you wander the halls, it hits you just how fucking lonely John must be when you guys aren't around. This place is fucking huge. _It's ridiculous for John to be living in a place this big all on his own._ You cringe at the thought, you know the reason he made it like this, and it makes you want to cry.

 

**== > Dave: Fall flat on your face**

 

_Fuck, that hurts!_ The cold and unforgiving floor snaps you out of your thoughts. That bastard must be out for revenge. The great and mighty floor is done being subservient to all things. It will no longer stand for literally being walked all over. Now is the time for the floor to rise up against its oppressors, starting with you.

This is stupid.

Your muscles groan in protest as you pull yourself upright. _John’s floor is fucking brutal._

There is something you notice, as your eyes begin to refocus, that ignites a cold bolt of fear in you. It's John’s phone. _Shit, that thing is fucking pulverized._ Bits and pieces of it are scattered about the floor like confetti.

Your head hurts. The relentless pounding of your heart against your ribs is suffocating. Shit, no, you are not about to let yourself panic; you're better than this. In spite of that, the adrenaline keeps pumping, your head keeps spinning, and you’re left helpless. There's a hammer near your feet. It's just an ordinary fucking hammer, the kind you can find just about anywhere, and that makes the huge dent left in the floor even more disturbing. You forget how strong John is sometimes.

Suddenly, the rushing panic stops and you are frozen. _Damn it._ Rose and Karkat were right, you can’t handle this on your own. You’re a fucking mess.

“Karkat?” Your voice comes out more desperate and strangled than you mean for it to. Quite a bit louder as well. Fuck. You don’t know why but you feel like you just massively screwed up.

 

**== > Dave: Be the guy who is done with your bullshit.**

 

You are Karkat and you are so fucking close to murdering that ironic dickwad. What the fucking hell made you think letting that emotionally stifled idiot go off on his own was a good idea? God you are such an idiot.

You find Dave crumpled on the floor looking almost pitiful. _Almost._ “What is it Dumbass?”

“I-I found John’s phone and I don’t know, I just…” He sounds shaky and uncertain.

Glancing at the carnage of the phone bits scattered across the floor, the fucking dent, you almost can’t blame him for reacting like this. “This is why you wandering off on your own is a goddamn idiotic idea.”

He nods as you pull him to his feet. “Come on Asshole, let’s go find John.”

 

**== > Karkat: Be someone somewhere else.**

 

Your name is Jake English and there’s an unsettling feeling that simply won’t leave you be. When you’d first seen John’s snapchat, your heart truly did go out to him. Having to deal with those rapscallions tormenting him like they were, was no menial task. However, after Jade contacted you distraught, you began to realise that you had greatly underestimated the gravity of the situation.

\-- golgothasTerror [GT] began pestering gardenGnostic [GG] --

GT: jade are you absolutely certain everything is absolutely alright without me there?

GG: :l i thought you said you had to get back to work

GT: well

GT: *sigh*

GT: my family is more important than being the head of some extraneous company.

GG: look i get that youre worried jake… we all are

GG: roxy was ready to drop everything to come help when rose talked to her earlier

GT: i dont doubt that for even a second.

GG: yup

GG: rose managed to convince her to settle for meeting up at my house tomorrow

GG: though i suppose that might change… Fl

GT: what is THAT supposed to mean?

GT: IS SOMETHING WRONG?

GG: no!!! everything is fine!!!!

GG: karkat and dave went into johns house a while ago and they havent come back yet

GG: so depending on how that goes i might ask her to meet me somewhere else later

GT: ah

GT: i see

GG: is everything okay????

GG: or are you freaking out??? O_O;

GT: i might be fretting just a tad.

GG: really jake, everything is okay!!!!!

GG: the four of us have things under control

GT: right.

GT: i apologize i didnt mean to sound like i was questioning your capabilities.

GG: its okay ^_^

GG: i know youre just worried

GT: i truely am.

GG: how about you meet up with us when roxy comes over

GG: i know its short notice

GG: but it might make you feel better :J

GT: i suppose so.

GT: why not?

GT: ill see you tomorrow then!

GG: wait!!!!!!!

GT: what is it?

GG: could you maybe talk to dirk and see if hed be willing to come along

GG: everythings fine but i can tell this whole thing is really bothering dave

GG: even if he wont admit it

GG: i was just thinking that maybe dirk being here could help

GT: i understand that. ill talk to him and try to work something out.

GG: awesome!!!! thank you so much jake!!!! C:

GT: anytime m’lady.

\-- golgothasTerror [GT] ceased pestering gardenGnostic [GG] --

You tug at your bowtie and lean back in your chair. You’ll have to make arrangements for someone to take charge of the company while you’re way… however long that is. It’s so disappointing that everything isn’t fine and dandy these days. You’d thought that everything might get better after the game but that’s _clearly_ not the case.

Despite promising Jade not to worry, you have a creeping feeling that this is only the tip of the iceberg. You feel exceedingly guilty for not being able to take Jade’s word for it. It’s not as though you doubt her per say, but deep down, you can’t help but feel terrified of what’s to come.

Enough of that; no one likes a negative nancy.

 

**== > Jake: Be someone we know a few minutes in the past but not many.**

 

You are John, and there is _someone_ inside your house. A loud crash just came from downstairs. All your muscles go tense and an animalistic fear runs through your veins. A million thoughts run through your head, a million guesses at who it is.

You dare not move.

The silence rings painfully in your ears. Your breath is slow and shaky. You are waiting. What you’re waiting for is lost to you.

_“Karkat?”_

For a split second, you lose your footing and slip off your mattress. Instincts take over, and save you from crashing in a loud ungraceful heap on the floor. Thank god you still have the windy to catch you just in time.

You know that voice. It’s Dave. Dave is in your house. Wait, shit, Karkat is probably here too isn’t he. _They’re here to check up on me aren’t they?_ You knew they would come looking for you eventually, but not so soon. Fuck, you should have gone on your computer and told them not to worry. If you had just done that, none of this would be happening.

You can’t let them find, you, not like this. It would ruin _everything_ . There would be no room for excuses, no way out. You’d be cornered. This in not okay. They don’t need to be this worried about you. You’re _fine_ ; you’re always fine. It’s just who you are. It’s who you have to be, for them. If they see you like this, you won’t be able to be that person for them anymore. That’s the one thing that you can do for anyone these days. You can’t let that slip away.

As quietly as possible, you creep over to the window. You take a slow, deep breath before heaving it open. This is it. You perch yourself on the ledge and take one last look at your room.

There is a moment of doubt. _What if this just makes things worse?_ But you shake the thought out of your head. This is for the best.

 

**== >** **John: Jump and make a daring escape.**

 

The feeling of fresh air on your skin and is nostalgic. You creep toward the side sidewalk. Your eyes dart from side to side, making sure the coast is clear. Things are quiet and peaceful. The sun is shining, the grass is cool and dewy on your bare feet. It serves as such stark contrast to the storm brewing inside you. Then you see them, Jade and Rose, standing on the street corner a few houses down, and your world crumbles.

_No! No! No! This is not supposed to happen!_ Tears are streaming down your face, but it doesn’t relieve you of their ache lurking just behind your eyes. _I don’t want to be here anymore! I just want to go home!_

You don’t have time for this, you need to run.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is, chapter four! Sorry it took a bit longer than expected but this was a really important chapter and I didn't want to post it until it was perfect! Thank you to everyone who's been leaving me those magnificent comments, their a large part of what's keeping me going. Also if anyone is interested, I've begun making a playlist of songs for this fic that I like to listen to while I write:
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLG_diNeQJc1fiSDZuYDz6wzxddfihyxAE
> 
> I'll probably add more as I go but that's what I have so far. Anyways, that's it from me for now, see you all again next chapter!


	5. Error.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Error 404: Egbert not found.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've read this pic before this update I strongly recommend you go back to the beginning. I've been doing some heavy editing on the earlier chapters. Ir isn't exactly necessary, but it would be beneficial

**== > Be John.**

 

Error.

 

**== > Try again.**

 

Error.

 

**== > You cannot be John.**

 

How about you chose an alternative?

 

**== > Be Future John.**

 

You are John from an ambiguous point in the future.

You sit idly, reading a tattered book. The plot is rather far fetched for a crime novel, but it’s still engaging enough to pass the time you spend here. There isn’t a whole lot you do during the day lately, aside from sleeping and occasionally running errands for your boss. You don’t mind of course. After all, he’s been kind enough to let you stay in the spare room. It’s usually reserved for blackout drunks that are too far gone to leave when it’s time to close up shop. You’re just thankful that he’s letting you stay here. No matter how poorly kept it is, staying here beats sleeping on the street any day.

That said, this place is disgusting. The room is painted a dingy shade of yellow that doesn’t belong anywhere near a wall. Ever. Though, you can’t imagine that they were this color when they were first painted. For all you know, they could have been white before years of water damage, dirt, and mold got to them.

You really hope they were not white.

Just to be safe, you shift away from the wall, moving to the edge of the cot. You doggy ear the page you’re on and set the book aside. A few weeks ago, you wouldn’t have believed that you would end up here. Yet, here you are, alone, who knows how far from your friends.

The lamp sheds a warm light from its place on the bedside table. However, it’s dim light is the only warm thing here. The slick concrete floor leaches out the heat in the air keeping the room at a low chill, and the thin sheets on the bed do little to shield you from the cold. Thankfully, with growing up in Washington, it doesn’t bother you.

A knock at the door startles you. “Hey, Johnny boy, make yourself decent. You’re up next,” your boss’s gruff voice sounds from the hall.

You chuckle to yourself before you reply. “Alright Boss, I’ll be right out.”

“Alrighty son, just don’t make ‘em wait too long,” he says before leaving, his footsteps echoing behind him.

You hop to your feet, abandoning the book and your glasses on the bedside table. A giddy anticipation surges through you as you hurriedly wrap your hands. If it weren’t for your boss _insisting_ that you bandage up your hands before heading into the rink, you’d already be out there.

You jog out of your room the moment you finish. The familiar shouts of drunken men and rank scent of sweat and cheap alcohol greet you. A crowd is gathered around the rink, eagerly waiting for the next fight. The way you talk about this whole thing makes it almost seem proper, as if it isn't just a bunch of drunk men gathered in a basement taking bets on which guy they think will pound the other into a bloody pulp. The “rink” isn't even an actual rink. It's just the empty area in the center of the room where people beat each other for the sick amusement of others.

You take a brief glance around, looking for that guy with the hoodie and the sunglasses. You've seen him hanging around during your last few fights. He never seems to be interested in the fight or the booze, though he seems to have taken up watching you when you’re out. At least, you think he does; it’s hard to tell with him wearing those sunglasses. He kind of reminds you of Dave. A few seconds of scanning the faces of the crowd leaves you disappointed in a way that it shouldn’t. He’s not here.

 

**== > Future John: Stop giving so many spoilers.**

 

Really, you will catch up eventually, but for now you have to wait. No use in skipping ahead and confusing yourself like this. You’ll be able to be John again soon enough.

 

**== > Future John: Be Past Rose instead.**

 

The street is quiet except for the occasional hum of activity a little ways down the road. You and Jade sit on the curb, opting to immerse yourselves in your phones instead of engaging in an actual conversation. The air is thick with tension. Neither of you want to acknowledge the situation, leaving your fears to slowly seep from your bodies. They permeate the air between you, unspoken but silently acknowledged by you both.

“Hey, Rose?” Jade’s words hesitantly disturb the silence held between the two you.

“Yes, what is it?” You ask, adjusting your seat on the curb so you can face her properly.

She gazes at you with wide, uncertain eyes. “Things are going to be okay, right?”

A small sigh falls from your lips. You wrap an arm around Jade’s shoulders, rubbing small circles on her arm. “I don’t know Jade.” You can almost feel Jade’s heartbreak a little at your admission. Nevertheless, you can’t find it in yourself to lie to her. “After something as traumatizing as Sburb, it’s only natural for our minds to become damaged someway or another.” You take a pause, glancing at Jade’s solemn expression before continuing. “It would shock me if any of us made it through the game unscathed.”

Jade’s eyes darken. “Then what can we do?” She growls, “If we’re all messed up from the game, what’s the point of us even being here? We’d just be the blind leading the blind, wouldn’t we?”

“No, not quite,” you counter. 

She stares at you, puzzled by your reply. You smile at her warmly, “We all went through that hell Jade. We might not know exactly what happened to John in the game, but we’ll be able to understand it better than anyone else in the world. Besides, he’s our friend and we’re going to support him no matter what.”

A spark of hope lights in Jade’s eyes. “You really think so?”

“Yes, I do.” 

She smiles, her worries put to rest for now.

 

**== > Past Rose: Be John.**

 

Error.

 

**== > Past Rose: Be Dave.**

 

Jade is crying on your shoulder. You're doing your best to reassure her but you just keep spouting generic bullshit that doesn’t do jackshit to comfort anyone. _Normally_ you wouldn’t be like this of course. You’d be handling this shit like the certified shit handling professional you are. After all, you might not be Rose, but you can do some top-notch Strider brand soothing when you put your mind to it. Unfortunately, those skills seem to have taken an impromptu fishing trip with their friends, leaving you completely inept at handling this.

It doesn’t help that Jade's refusing to listen to reason. She keeps going on about how it's all her fault, which you highly doubt. It’s hard to see her keep blaming for things she can’t help like this. Jade always expects herself to be able to handle everything all the time, and refuses to accept anything less. But you aren’t in any place to judge her for that.

You still don't have a clear idea of what happened. Karkat swooped in and dragged Rose up to John’s room the moment she got here, leaving you downstairs with Jade and no explanation. You don’t blame the guy for it, to be honest. Rose is the best person you can think of to make sense of the drawings you’d found scrawled across the walls. 

For now, you've been trying your best to piece together what happened from what you can make out of Jade’s sobs.

All you know is that he’s gone.

You don’t know how he managed to slip through your fingers, or if he plans on coming back.

John is just gone.

You wish there was something you could do, something more than sitting here and waiting.

“Dave?” Jade’s voice sounds much more even now. Perhaps your feeble attempts to calm her down haven’t been useless after all.  She pulls away from your side stiffly.

Your eyes soften. “Yeah Jade, what is it?” It's painful seeing her like this when you know that all she wants is to be brave and strong. 

She doesn't glance up from her lap. “It was so strange,” Jade begins furrowing her brow. “One moment he was there and the next he just started to... to…” Her eyes turn glassy for a moment, suddenly unable to find the right word.

It takes her moment to calm down again, even with you showering her with all the pats. All of them. “It was like he started to glitch, like a corrupted computer file or something. Then he was just gone.” Her voice wavers and fresh tears well in her eyes.

You let out a long tired sigh as you guide Jade to re-attach herself to your shoulder once again.

 

**== > Dave: Be John.**

 

Error.

 

**== > Dave: Try being someone else.**

 

You are now Past Jade.

A window opening down the road catches your ear, startling the near silence of the sleepy street. You glance over curiously in the direction of the noise.

 _Wait, no._ The sight that greets you makes your heart stop and your blood run cold. _Is that John?_

You squint at the figure on the windowsill trying to make them out better.  There’s no way that’s John; you must be wrong. No matter how hard you look, you can’t will them to morph into someone other than your friend.

"Rose," you breath, barely loud enough for her to hear.

“Yes, Jade?” You can feel her eyes glancing at you, intrigued, but you refuse look away from John.

An unsteady air of calm washes over you as you rise from your seat. “John’s in the window Rose.”

 _“What?”_ She leaps to her feet just as John leaps down from his perch.

The two of you stand, locked in an unbearable silence watching him wander around his front yard. He glances your way, his eyes growing wide. In the next instant, he practically throws himself behind the fence.

“Rose,” you begin, trying to keep your voice as steady as possible. “What should we do?" 

“I don’t know.” Her doubt makes you falter.

A second later, he dashes out of his hiding place like his life depends on it. You immediately disregard any sense of hesitation and run after him.

 

**== > Past Jade: Be John.**

 

Error.

 

**== > Past Jade: Settle for being Karkat.**

 

“Karkat, please wait a moment,” Rose pleads as you drag her to John's bedroom. “I’m aware that what you want to show me is undoubtedly quite important, but I believe that both you and Dave need to hear what’s happened first.”

You stop, and turn to face her. “Okay Rose, just tell me one thing: is this shit so goddamn time sensitive than it needs to be said right fucking now? If so, then I’ll gladly let this wait.” 

She lets out a reluctant sigh. “I suppose it isn’t absolutely imperative for me to tell the two of you to know right this second.”

“Good,” you mutter, satisfied, as you continue the march towards John’s room. Thank whatever wrinkled old nutsack in the sky that’s watching over you that Rose doesn’t return your question. This doesn't need to happen now; you could have fucking waited.

You push past the door and guide Rose over to the wall littered with John’s writing. She goes still. The two of you stand staring at the the literal writing on the goddamn wall. The slanderous words John scrawled across the walls is just as heart crushing as it was the first time you saw them. You will yourself to ignore all the implications in those words as the two of you stand, staring at them in complete silence. You aren’t doing anything you’d intend to do when you dragged Rose here. Instead, you’re standing here like a constipated douchewaffle without a thinkpan.

The gravity of everything hits you hard. It chokes you, so even when finally find the words your voice fails you. You tear your gaze away and glance at Rose. Her face is a mixture of stress, heart crushing guild, and a complete void of emotion. Your throat goes dry. What should you even make of that? You flick your eyes away again before things get awkward.

“This isn’t the first time this has happened, right?” You ask in a low whisper.

“Yes, that would be correct,” she replies, her eyes still trained on John’s writing. “I assume you saw it while watching John through your viewport.”

“And you saw it because you were his server player,” you counter.

Rose nods, silently climbing onto John’s mattress to examine the drawings more closely.

“This is so much bigger than I thought,” she breaths. “I can’t believe I didn’t try to talk to John about this when we were younger. Why didn’t I say anything?”

“Rose, you really don’t nee-”

“You don’t understand Karkat,” she cuts in. “I had no reason not to inquire more about it. The whole dichotomy of the situation in comparison to John’s typical behavior should have been a red flag from the get go.”

“You were thirteen goddamned years old Rose,” you argue. She whips around, her eyes narrowed in disbelief. “Look, we all have things we’d do differently in that game if we could, but we were just kids doing the best we could at the time.”

It's hard to tell if your words do any good. She glances away, her eyes settling on the door in quiet contemplation. With that, silence settles briefly over the two of you again.

“Hey,” she speaks again, but now her voice is quiet and raspy. “How did Dave react to seeing all this, or is he still unaware of it?”

You let out a long tired sigh. “Yeah, he knows about it.” Just thinking about this fills you with a sense of dread that can only be supplied by one Dave Dickwad Strider. “When we found it, he just shut down. I was expecting him to flip out, or try to play it cool, or just do _something_ , but he didn’t. He just stood there and stared at it like a fucking dumbass. Then… then he just left.”

“That makes sense.” 

 _Wait what the fuck? Did she just say Dave’s behavior is making sense?_ You stare at her in complete and utter fucking bafflement. The emotionally constipated fuck stain was actually showing signs of having feelings earlier, feelings outside of the ones necessary for being an irritating prick. It might’ve come as a relief under different circumstances but with things as they are it’s just fucking disturbing.

“Don’t look at me like that Karkat,” Rose chides. “Look, I know Dave is normally able to keep a cool head in situations but, I suppose, you could consider this an exception.”

A frustrated growl rips through your throat as you burry your head in your hands. “What the hell are you talking about?”

A long sigh escapes her. “John, as you know, does not typically act out like this.” You nod along as she continues. “Dave can normally take upsets like this in stride. However, I believe that there are a few things that have become a sort of staple for him. For example his shades. If you were to take those away, it would be even more of a surprise if he were to not behave strangely, correct.” You nod, and she continues. “From what I’ve gathered, John’s stability in his upbeat has at some point become one of these things.” 

You furrow your brow, your thinkpan buzzing with new information. “That doesn’t any fucking sense though. Why would Dave latch onto _that_ of all the shit in the fucking universe?”

“Contrary to how it sounds, it makes a good deal of sense when you think about it.” Rose smirks a little smugly as she says this. “John is a good friend, or at least he tries to be. It’s easy to grow to depend on someone with his demeanor especially during something, or even after Sburb. After all, everyone needs to be reminded that things aren’t necessarily as bad as they seem every now and then.”

You eyes have fallen, now glued to the floor as you let Rose’s words sink in. “Yeah, I _guess_ that makes sense.” You shake your head of any lingering confusion. 

You almost think you hear Rose mutter something in agreement but the sound is too quiet and muffled to be discerned. You push the thought aside in favor of asking another question. “What exactly happened to John? You said that you and Jade had seen something.”

She nods slowly. “Jade had first spotted him just before he jumped from his bedroom window,” Rose explains. “I'm not sure what had occurred to make him behave the way he did but whatever it was must have been horrible. When he first saw Jade and I, he looked terrified.”

“Terrified?” your face scrunches up in confusion. “Wait, are you trying to tell me that he was fucking pissing his pants because of _you and Jade?_ ”

“No,” she sighs. “I don't believe that he was scared of _us_ per say.”

“What was it then?”

Her shoulders shrug loosely. “It's anyone's guess. Perhaps, he truly was scared of Jade and I. I couldn't say for certain.” Rose stops for a moment, furrowing her brow. “Where was I… Ah, I remember now. Shortly after first spotting us, John made a break for it. We both chased after him but before either of us could, something started to happen to him,” She pauses for a moment her eyes suddenly showing every ounce of exhaustion in her bones as she curls further into herself. “He started to flicker and distort; it was a rather strange sight. One could almost liken it to watching a computer file gradually getting corrupted.”

You nod, trying picture what she’s describing. You quickly regret it because the images your mind conjures up end up ranging from half assed effects from a crappy B movie to genuinely disturbing, gory even.

Rose continues, “It began enveloping him more and more until, eventually, he flickered out of existence.”

You don’t know how to react to this. You can’t even begin to process the information that’s just been given to you let alone react to it. Are you angry? Are you sad? Are you a strange mixture of both? You don’t know. Suddenly, you’re struck with a realization. “Why aren’t we out looking for him?” You demand, marching up to Rose. “I’m not about to just sit here knowing that John just fucking disappeared! Especially when he could be literally anywhere in paradox space!”

She runs her fingers through her hair, stress and tiredness becoming even more apparent. “I know you aren’t Karkat, neither are we but we have to be smart about this. We are all exhausted, both physically and mentally, not to mention that we have don’t have a single idea of where to start. John could be anywhere, or perhaps even nowhere at all.”

That last part  makes you stiffen. John couldn’t be gone for good, could he? No explanations or good byes, just one second he’s there, and the next he’s not. _This is not okay,_ you think frantically. _None of this is even remotely fucking peachy._ God damn it, you want to punch something. A wall would be preferable or, even better, John for worrying you like this.

Who are you kidding, that’s the last thing you’d do if he were here.

Rose’s expression softens. “Hey, I’m not saying we’re not going to find him. We just need to be patient and think things through, okay?”

You take a deep breath and nod stiffly. “Okay.”

“Good.” She turns back to the drawings. “Now, why exactly did you feel that I needed to see this so urgently?” 

Biting your lip uncertainly, you shift your attention to the wall. “I was just thinking that you could pull some of you psychoanalysis bullshit and make sense of all this.”

She nods tentatively. “I see.”

“So, what do you think of it?”

“Well,” She begins. “The clowns, I’d be tempted to say that they’re there because of his dad, but the clowns were also there before his father’s death. I believe that they’re simply a reflection of the way John views himself: a joke, someone who has little use outside of making a fool of themself.”

A heavy anxiety begins to settle over you.

“As for the writing, look at the colors.”

 _The colors?_ You squint, trying to see what Rose is getting at. _Oh wait…_

“John wrote these in the colors that each of use uses on Pesterchum,” she states glumly. “He seems to believe that, deep down, we think these things about him, regardless of how we behave towards him.”

The growing sense of unease churning in your gut becomes almost nauseating as you turn to her. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means that John is projecting his self-loathing onto us,” she explains. “He isn’t able to admit to himself that all this hate is originating from his distorted self image. And due to that, he’s convinced himself that it’s what everyone else must secretly think of him.”

“Oh.”

“Look, I should head back downstairs to check on Dave and Jade,” Rose says standing up. “Would you like to tag along?”

“I’d rather stay up here for now."

“Alright,” she sighs. “I’ll be back up later.”

Rose leaves, shutting the door softly behind her. You climb up onto John's bed, perching yourself on the food board, and stare at his writing in all its sombering implications.

 

**== > Karkat: Be John.**

 

Error.

 

**== > Karkat: Keep fucking trying until shit starts to work.**

 

Error.

 

**== > Karkat: Try again, damn it. **

 

Error.

 

**== > Karkat: Just keep trying.**

 

Error.

 

**== > Karkat: It’s bound to work eventually.**

 

Error.

 

**== > Karkat: Don’t give up that easily.**

 

Error.

 

**== > Karkat: Try one last time. **

 

The world is starting to feel solid and _real_ again. You stand on you hands and knees, your arms trembling under your weight. Cold sweat trickles down you face as your lungs heave desperately for air. Slowly, your eyes come back into focus and you come to a startling realization. The ground isn’t the same worn sidewalk lining your street. It’s bamp and littered with twigs and pebbles.

Shakily, you rise to your feet and stare, wide eyed, at your surroundings. You feel tiny. Huge pine trees tower above you, disappearing into the fog blanketing the sky overhead. The trees are spread sparsely across the landscape, with huge empty gaps standing between them. There is a dream like quality about this place. It might be because of the thick fog makes it seem like the trees stretch on forever, or the unnatural blue glow cast over everything; it’s hard to say for sure. You take a deep breath and take your first steps into this bizarre landscape, sharp twigs and rocks digging into your bare feet.

 _How did I even get here?_ The question lurks unanswered in your mind.

You remember running from Jade, the wind whipping through your hair, the sidewalk scraping against your feet, and the sound of her footsteps steadily growing closer. Things after that are blurry and uncertain. You’re almost certain that you saw the world flicker, in the same way it did in the asylum from your dream.  After that, there is a chilling gap in your memory. There is an almost tangible emptiness in that gap of time, places gone, between then and finding yourself here. Try as you might, you can’t see beyond that empty void of time. Eventually, you stop trying.

Maybe this is a blessing. You’re somewhere, god knows how far away, and you doubt they’ll be able to find you any time soon. A bittersweet smile crosses your lips. This is good, a miracle actually. Soon enough, they’ll think you died or just realize that you don’t want to be found. And then they’ll stop looking and start to think about you less and less. Eventually, you’ll fade into a distant memory of an old friend from when they had been young and stupid.

Yeah, this is for the best. You don’t know why you’re bothering to question it. You’re going to miss them all dearly; you’ve already started to. An agonising ache settles in your chest. You can only imagine what they’re going through right now. Jade is probably blaming herself, which is dumb because this is your choice and it has nothing to do with her. You’d be willing to bet good money that Dave is trying to keep a cool head through it all, but you’re sure he’s still worried. Everyone must be. Maybe it’s arrogant of you to think so, it’s too hard to tell. Karkat is definitely pissed at you for disappearing like this. Rose is the only one you can imagine keeping a truly level head through the whole ordeal. But even she’s bound to worry herself sick after a while.

This is fine. What you’re doing is for the best, even if it hurts.

Maybe if you tell that to yourself enough times, you’ll start to believe it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At long last it is done. I'm sorry it took so long I was dealing with personal stuff. Anyways I hope you've enjoyed I'll see you next time.


End file.
